Characters: John, Stamford, Lestrade, Sherlock
Warnings: none, except for a brief mention of blood
Pairings: technically John/Unspecified Future Spouse, but pretty much Gen as she (or he!) is unmentioned.
Word count: Approx. 600
Summary: John is getting married. Sherlock Holmes is missing.
Author's notes: This is a silly little thing that popped into my head as I was falling asleep and so I've written it. It is fluffy.
I couldn't decide if John would be married in his uniform or not. There is a version of mess kit that has a bow tie, however, so feel free to presume what you want.
“How much time do we have left?” John asked.
Stamford obligingly looked at his watch, even though John was aware he'd asked the question five times already. “Ten minutes,” he said. “It will be fine, John. They'll be here.”
Stamford was currently his only usher. John was currently missing the other one and his Best Man, Lestrade having gone to try and hunt down Sherlock. Neither were answering their mobiles. John hoped this was because they were running too fast toward the church to respond.
“It's a good thing I gave the rings to you,” John noted.
Stamford, taking the hint, pulled the rings from his pocket and flashed them in reassurance. “I have a back-up Best Man speech, too,” he admitted.
John couldn't help but laugh at that. “I might make you use it, even if Sherlock does show-up,” he said. “God knows what he's come up with—if he's even come up with anything. Every time I've asked he'd just swatted at me and told me in it's in his mind place and was perfectly suitable. I really think it should be vetted. I still don't think this bow tie is right...”
“You're babbling,” Stamford said. “You nervous?”
“Yes,” John admitted. “I can't feel my feet.” He gave them a few shakes, making Stamford chuckle.”How much time do we have left?”
“Eight minutes,” Stamford said, without looking at his watch. “They'll be here.”
“They bloody well better be,” John muttered.
“I have him! He's here, it's okay,” Lestrade said, bursting in three minutes to the ceremony's scheduled start time. He was literally pulling Sherlock by the arm.
“Where the hell—?” John began. “Are you bleeding? Please tell me you did not get yourself stabbed on my wedding day.”
“It's not mine. It's fine, my waistcoat will cover the blood,” Sherlock assured him. “My cuff links are in my pocket and—your bow tie looks ridiculous.”
John didn't have time to yell. It was a three-man job to get Sherlock looking presentable. His waistcoat did cover the blood on his shirt and Stamford buffed shoes with a will and Lestrade brushed his jacket out and Sherlock was transformed into something like a Best Man in three minutes flat.
“See, I told you it would be fine,” Sherlock said, unperturbed. “I will have to leave directly after the ceremony though.”
“Dinner,” John argued.
“First dance,” Sherlock bartered.
“Speeches,” John said.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Deal,” he agreed.
“And please don't make the Maid of Honour cry like you did at the rehearsal,” John said.
“You told me to make small talk!” Sherlock said. “I was trying to comply.”
“Yeah, 'I hope you allowed for your recent weight gain when you had your dressed fitted' does not count as small talk,” John said. “Don't say anything to her. Just smile.” Sherlock put on a purely fake smile. “Okay, don't frown. Just don't frown.”
“Show time,” Lestrade said. “C'mon, John.”
“Wait, wait,” Sherlock said.
“Sherlock!” John complained.
“I can't in good conscience let you get married like this,” Sherlock announced.
There was dead silence in the room. John felt his stomach turn cold. He thought they'd moved past the childish refusal and into reluctant acceptance.
“Your bow tie is atrocious,” Sherlock said. “I'm not standing next to you looking like that. Here.”
John relaxed and laughed, putting his hands up to let Sherlock retie it. He glanced in the mirror and had to admit it was better now.
“Okay, go ahead,” Sherlock said.
“Thank you,” John said, and meant it.
Sherlock Holmes might be the worst Best Man in history and sometimes vied for the worst best friend, but when it mattered, he could be counted on.
And he could tie one hell of a bow tie.